The ringing started on the other end of the line. If it was at all possible, Steve gripped the handset even tighter. It had taken a little over an hour and a half for the power to come back on. They had been sitting in the shade under the awning at the front of the store, cold soft drink bottles in hand. When the outdoor ice freezer started to hum and the Three Dog Night hit "Mama Told Me (Not To Come)" could be heard from inside the store, Steve bolted to his feet and sprinted to the phone booth.

Ninety minutes had been way too long for his fertile mind not to explore all the possible scenarios. What if Mike was dead? Injured too badly to survive? What if he was paralyzed, or maimed? Bedridden for the rest of his life? Surely he would be too badly injured to be back to work anytime in the near future.

And did he, Steve, bring this on, with his doubts about their ability to work together? His first trainer out of the academy had been badly injured in a car accident and subsequently retired when they had been together less than five months. Had he become a Jonah?; would he become a pariah?

Steve carried no pictures of his partner with him, and now suddenly found he was having trouble remembering exactly what Mike looked like; all he seemed to recall was the sparkling blue eyes, the irresistible grin and infectious laugh. He even chuckled softly to himself – if that's the only things you remember about someone, it's not a bad legacy, he thought.

And now he leaned against the open accordion door of the dusty phone booth once again, with his three friends looking on, and prayed that someone would pick up the receiver on the other end. There was a loud click and the connection was made. At first all he could hear was a cacophony of voices and he could barely make out "Homicide, Haseejian!" being shouted into the din.

Steve glanced up at his friends before yelling "Norm, it's Steve!" into the handset.

"Steve?!" he heard Haseejian shout again, "Steve, is that you?!"

"Yeah!"

"Where the hell have you been?! We've been trying to get in touch with you?!" Even bellowing at the top of his lungs, Steve could barely hear his colleague over the background clamor. What the hell was happening in Homicide?

"Norm, what's going on with –!"

"Just a second, someone needs to talk to you!" Haseejian cut him off and Steve heard the din suddenly muffled, as though Haseejian put his hand over the mouthpiece. He heard a voice yell "Captain!" but he couldn't tell if it was Haseejian or not. Steve glanced up at Paul and his furrowed brow told the young lawyer that he was now even more worried.

Another connection was opened and the background racket got appreciably louder. He heard a voice say "Steve?" but he couldn't tell who it was. Devitt? Olsen? Mentally, he braced himself as he heard the click of the first phone being hung up and then the decibel level decrease even more as if a door was shut.

"Steve? Is that you?" came a voice that he recognized immediately; his eyes shot wide open and he seemed to stagger.

"Mike?" he gasped and his three friends flinched, Paul's hand shooting out to grab his arm and steady him.

"Yeah. Where the hell are you? I've been trying to reach you for days. You didn't leave me a number."

Steve's knees had given out slightly and he sagged against the door of the booth. His head swam and he gulped air as he started to laugh, suddenly overwhelmed with relief.

On the other end of the line, Mike paused, hearing his partner's laboured breathing, realizing that, until this second, Steve may have thought he was dead. He gave the younger man a few seconds to pull himself together.

"You, ah, you weren't on that plane?" Steve finally got out, and Mike closed his eyes, moved by the naked emotion he could hear in the familiar voice.

Mike took a deep breath before answering slowly. "No, uh, something came up and I couldn't go. When I heard about the crash, I tried to get in touch with you. I didn't want you to worry. But I couldn't –"

"Please deposit another fifty cents to continue your call," a mechanical voice interrupted him.

"Where are you?" Mike asked quickly. "Tahoe?"

"Yeah."

"Look, call me at home tonight, collect, and I'll tell you all about it. I should be home by eight. Go…have some fun, alright?... Steve?"

"Yeah, yeah, I will, I'll call –" The line went dead. Steve stood transfixed, the receiver still to his ear, trying to process everything he had just heard. Slowly he looked up, finding Paul's eyes, and for the first time all day, he really smiled.

# # # # #

In the waning sunlight, Mike turned the Galaxy onto the steep street, his eyes trying to locate an open space amongst the parked cars on his left. He chuckled to himself when he spied a slot almost directly opposite his house. "My luck continues…" he said softly as he swung the large sedan into the space.

He turned the car off and sat there for a couple of seconds, running his hands over his tired face and trying not to yawn. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. 8:41. "Oh jeez," he growled, taking the key from the ignition and opening the door. "Steve." Slamming the car door, he sprinted across the street then almost slid to a stop on the sidewalk, catching his breath in surprise.

Sitting on the bottom flight of stairs, a smiling Steve Keller got to his feet. "I thought you said you were gonna be home by eight," he said with a small laugh.

Grinning, a little nonplussed but obviously pleased, Mike shot back. "And I thought you were gonna call? What did you do, hang up the phone and get right into your car?"

"It's only a four hour drive and besides, I have a Porsche, remember?" Steve teased.

"Yeah, I remember." Mike pretended to glance up and down the street. "I didn't see it."

"Oh, ah, I parked one street over. There was only one space available when I got here and I didn't want you to have to park that … monstrosity too far away."

With a sardonic smile, Mike moved closer. "So, ah, now that you're here, you, ah, you want to come up and have a drink?" he asked facetiously.

"I'd love to," Steve said with a chuckle, taking a step back and gesturing towards the stairs. Mike stepped in front of him and started up. "Have you had dinner?"

"Not really," Mike said over his shoulder, "I had a sandwich around two. I could eat. You?"

"Same here. I'll order a pizza, okay?"

"Sounds perfect."

# # # # #

"The pizza's on its way. Well, once they bake it, of course," Steve announced with chuckle as Mike came down the stairs from his bedroom, now dressed in khakis and a blue work shirt. He pointed to the coffee table. "I opened you a beer."

"Oh, thanks," Mike said, trying to stifle a yawn as he picked up the can and dropped heavily into the recliner.

Sitting on the couch, his own beer cradled in both hands between his thighs, Steve studied the top of the can. "So, ah, so what happened? Why didn't you go?" he asked quietly.

Mike swallowed the mouthful of beer he was drinking and leaned forward deliberately to put the can back on the coffee table. He sat back and sighed, his gaze drifting to a point somewhere in the middle of the carpet. "I was supposed to fly out with them on Sunday morning, you knew that, and then about 3 a.m., I get this phone call. It was the Chief." He shook his head and chuckled. "Woke me up pretty fast, I'll tell ya. Anyway, it seemed that a Chinese diplomat had just been found in a bordello in Chinatown with a dead hooker in his bed. The Chief knows I've worked a couple of other cases involving the Chinese consulate over the years and he asked me to take this one on." He shrugged with a wry smile. "What could I do?"

"But there were four guys on the plane."

"Yeah, I know. I knew Bob'd be up with the sun, hell, before the sun, getting everything ready, so I called him at 5 and told him I couldn't come. I guess he found someone to take my place."

"When did you find out it had gone down?" Steve asked quietly.

"The department was notified Sunday night, but we were just told the plane was missing. They didn't get to it till Monday morning. It's really a miracle anyone survived."

Steve looked down. "Who, ah, who was it that died?"

Mike took a deep breath, then let it out in a rush. He cocked his head slightly, looking inward. "It was the guy that replaced me," he said simply, trying to keep the dismay out of his voice.

Steve closed his eyes and took his own deep breath. "How bad are the others, do you know?" he asked eventually.

Mike shook his head. "It's pretty bad, I know that." He looked at Steve and smiled sightly, ironically. "There but for the grace…right?" He inhaled deeply. "Anyway, ah, I was hoping that you wouldn't hear a news report or see something in a paper." He looked at Steve sharply. "Is that what happened?"

With a slight smile of his own, Steve nodded. "A Vegas paper. One of my friends saw it."

"Damn it," Mike said softly. "I'm sorry, buddy boy, I really didn't want to worry you but there was no way I could get in touch with you. I didn't have a phone number or even knew where you were exactly." He saw the younger man wince slightly at the sobriquet and silently kicked himself for using it once again. Over the past couple of weeks, he had become aware that the younger man was growing increasingly uncomfortable whenever he used the epithet, and he had made a conscious effort to curb its use. But occasionally he'd forget and it would slide effortlessly from his lips.

A somewhat uncomfortably silence lengthened between them, then Steve asked, "So, did you solve the hooker murder? Is that what all that noise in the office was today?"

"Oh," Mike nodded, chuckling, "yeah, turns out the diplomat did do it. I think the consulate was hoping it was a set-up of some kind, but nope. Our 'unwitting victim' was actually the perp. We had just released that little bit of information to the public and the entire place went crazy. Seems a couple of higher ups at the consulate had spent the last few days denigrating the reputation of The City and its police department, and the public was venting their anger and frustration with the way they believe diplomats are treated differently than locals. All those overflow phone calls made it up to us eventually and all hell broke loose." He chuckled again. "You almost couldn't hear yourself think in there for awhile."

He glanced at Steve. "You need another beer. I'll get it," he said as he got up and picked up the two empty cans. "Hey, why don't you see if you can find the Giants game on the radio. I think they're playing the Pirates tonight – should be a good game," he instructed as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Shaking his head, Steve chuckled to himself as he got up and crossed to the radio on the end table. As he turned it on and tried to find the station, he thought back over the past few hours, of the elation that followed the phone call and the hasty decision to cut short his vacation and head back to The City. He listened to Mike in the kitchen, opening their beers and putting what sounded like potato chips into a bowl, and he smiled.

Mike walked back into the living room with two cans in one hand and an aluminum bowl of chips in the other. He handed one can to Steve before setting the bowl on the coffee table. "Sorry, I don't seem to have any dip. My fridge never seems to be well-stocked whenever Jeannie's not home," he apologized with a chuckle.

"No problem," Steve smiled back as he turned up the volume on the radio then took his seat on the couch. "I hope the pizza gets here soon. I'm starved."

Laughing, Mike dropped back onto the armchair. "Me, too. Oh, just so you know, I'm gonna take the next couple of days off and head down to San Diego…you know, see how everyone's doing…" Steve nodded. "You still have a few days left, why don't you go back to Tahoe? After all, you said it yourself, you do have a Porsche," he said with a chuckle.

"I might," Steve said, leaning back on the couch. He closed his eyes, suddenly aware of a feeling of contentment washing over him; the unease and confusion that had dominated his thoughts so recently had disappeared. He opened his eyes and looked over at his partner, whose own head was back against the armchair and eyes closed. Mike looked tired and worried, and Steve's heart went out to him. It must have been an hellacious week for the older man… for his partner.

# # # # #

"I should get out of here," Steve said as he got to his feet, picking up the two plates from the coffee table and crossing into the kitchen. "You've gotta get some sleep."

Rubbing a hand across his tired eyes, Mike nodded, getting up as well. "Yeah, it's gonna be a long drive." He turned off the radio then picked up the empty beer cans and carried them into the kitchen.

Standing at the counter, Steve turned to face his partner. "Listen, ah, how about I come by tomorrow morning and pick you up… we can go to San Diego together."

Mike froze slightly as he put the cans on the counter. "Don't you want to go back to Tahoe?"

"I can go there anytime. Right now, I think I'd like to go with you to San Diego, if you don't mind?"

"No, no, not at all," Mike said quickly, trying not to grin. "I'd love the company, really." He stared at the younger man, not sure what to say next.

Steve smiled warmly, not meeting Mike's stare as he closed the lid of the pizza box and put it in the fridge. He started towards the front door, Mike in his wake.

"Listen, ah," Mike began again as Steve opened the door, "you really don't have to come, bud- … Steve."

"I know," Steve said, nodding, "but I really want to. So, I'll pick you up at - what? Seven?"

Starting to get his equilibrium back, Mike snorted. "Seven? Are you nuts? We wouldn't get into San Diego until dinnertime. Five."

"Five?" Steve shot back, amusement in his tone. "Mike, not even the birds are up at five o'clock!"

"The birds don't have to drive through rush-hour traffic. Five."

"Five-thirty?" Steve turned puppy-dog eyes on his partner. "Don't forget, we'll be in the Porsche. I can make good time in the Porsche."

"Yeah, I know you can, that's what I'm worried about," Mike said lightly, enjoying the repartee that had been missing from their relationship lately. He was about to protest once more when suddenly he laughed and sighed. "Alright, you win. Five-thirty, but you better be here on the dot or there'll be hell to pay, young fella," he threatened with a chuckle as Steve stepped onto the porch.

Their eyes met and they both froze, their smiles briefly disappearing. Then Steve grinned and reached out to affectionately slap the older man on the arm before he turned away. He stopped and looked back. "I don't mind it, you know," he said softly.

Mike's head went back slightly and his brow furrowed. "Don't mind what?"

"Buddy boy. I don't mind it."

Mike froze and his throat tightened. He blinked quickly a couple of times and it took a couple of seconds before he could find his voice. He nodded slowly, a smile building. "I'll keep that in mind," he said quietly.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning," Steve said with a grin as he turned and started down the steps.

"Yeah, tomorrow," Mike repeated as he watched him go, smiling.